


Peace In Your Arms

by MediaWhore



Series: Through Eerie Chaos [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Aristocrat Louis, Drabbles, Ficlets, Fluff, M/M, Photographer Harry, Through Eerie Chaos, sequels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16020635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediaWhore/pseuds/MediaWhore
Summary: Thehappily ever after...Or a series of TEC codas





	Peace In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise ! 
> 
> So, I wrote this coda for @hrrytomlinson last October and mailed it to her as a surprise, but never really got around to posting it anywhere. Mainly because it was supposed to just be a gift for my friend, to be honest. But I was cleaning up my google drive earlier today and realised it had been gathering dust for far too long. I figured it was time it stopped living in the shadows! It's a tiny, short, irrelevant little thing but I'm quite fond of it so I wanted to share <33
> 
> I'm thinking of writing more little irrelevant things in the TEC universe just because rereading it made me all emo for my boys and lowkey inspired so look out for those I suppose! And if there's anything you want to see specifically, feel free to send me prompts @mediawhorefics . 
> 
> Title from:  
> “give me a few days of peace in your arms—i need it terribly. i’m ragged, worn, exhausted. after that i can face the world.”  
> — Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin, featured in A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

 

“Oh, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want! So, tell me what you want, what you really really want! I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, really, really, really, wanna zigazig, ah!” 

Harry shakes his hip a little on the  _ ah,  _ the dishes he’s supposed to be doing entirely forgotten. The dish towel is precariously placed on his shoulder and it falls to the floor when he shimmies, turning away from the sink to face his kitchen. 

He gasps when he notices his amused audience. 

Louis’ hair is sticking up in all direction, a messy look he only wears late at night after spending too many hours going over the books in their photography studio. He always passes a nervous hand through his hair when he feels overwhelmed, a habit Harry is constantly surprised none of his nannies has trained him out of. He’s still wearing his glasses, his waistcoat unbuttoned and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up attractively, showing off his muscled forearms. Evidently, he hasn’t been in the flat very long. 

“You’re home early,” Harry teases, leaning down to grab the towel and hide the sudden red to his cheeks. 

Modern pop music is surprisingly high on the list of things he misses from the 21st century, a fact that Louis never stops mocking gently. 

Louis hums, still looking at Harry with that amused glint in his eyes. 

“I can go back downstairs to do some more work?” he offers. “Let you finish the song.” 

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head, “I’m almost done in here anyway and I don’t want to go back down to beg for some cuddles.”

Louis chuckles while Harry turns back to the sink, efficiently washing the last three dishes.

The floor creaks when Louis moves, the flat older than Harry would have liked when they first bought it. Three years later, it’s home, with all the flaws and imperfections he’s now come to love so deeply. He shivers a little when he feels Louis press himself against his back, surprised he hasn’t left to pour himself a drink and wait for him in the living room. 

“What are you doing there buddy?” Harry whispers teasingly when he feels Louis’ fingers slip in the waistband of his trousers and his lips pressing small kisses in the nape of his neck. 

Louis hums again, linking his fingers on Harry’s stomach, embracing him tightly. “Said you wanted cuddles,” he mumbles, his breath hot against Harry’s skin. 

Harry smiles, putting away the last plate to dry before placing his wet hands on top of Louis’, who doesn’t even protest and simply links their hands together. 

“Did you manage to finish the inventory?” Harry asks, feeling a bit guilty Louis is the one who has to do all the hard work while Harry follows his passion and spends all day taking pictures. 

“Nah,” Louis replies softly. “S’okay though. I’ll finish tomorrow. I know you hate going to bed when I’m still down there.” 

“Well, this flat is freezing without you,” Harry argues matter-of-factly. It’s a fight they’ve had many times before, used and comfortable for both of them. 

There’s a beat of silence, then Louis somehow seems to get even closer, his body heat enveloping Harry completely. Not for the first time, Harry thinks it was worth leaving everything behind just for this moment. 

“I’ll help tomorrow,” Harry whispers. 

Louis laughs. “The goal is for me to finish the inventory eventually baby, not scramble the whole thing into an incoherent mess.” 

“Heyyy!” Harry protests, turning around in Louis’ arms, placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. He frowns down at Louis, loving the way his eyes look behind the round glasses. They’re a new addition, one that Louis has had a hard time adjusting to, but Harry can’t help but love the way they enhance his cheekbones. 

“It’s true,” Louis replies with a grave nod. “I love you for wanting to help me, but I’d like us to run a profitable business,” he adds before pressing a small kiss on Harry’s nose, who wrinkles it in protest, just to be difficult. 

“Not everyone had “Estate running lessons” from age six,” Harry replies, making quotation marks with his fingers. 

Louis presses a bit more firmly on Harry’s lower back, his fingers teasing along the curve of Harry’s ass. 

“And aren’t you lucky that I did?” 

“Yes,” Harry agrees easily, dropping the banter with no second thoughts, surrendering to Louis’ argument happily. He’s lucky in so many ways. “You hungry?” he adds, even though he brought Louis a snack downstairs a few hours ago. 

“No, I’m alright. How about a drink in the living room?”

Harry nods, pecking Louis’ lips very quickly. “Yes please.”

“Alright, I’m taking care of it, then I’ll give you your cuddles,” Louis declares, squeezing Harry’s hips. 

*

When Harry finally gets to the living room, face washed and wearing nothing but his undershirt and some of Louis’ pyjama bottoms, Louis is finishing preparing their drinks, his back turned to Harry as he focuses on the drink cart he insisted on purchasing back when they first got the flat and the shop. Harry never truly understood its utility, but it’s a fancy little thing that reminds Louis of the home he lost and watching him fiddle with it always brings a smile to Harry’s face. 

They both had to give up so much to be with each other, sometimes it’s good to have even just a tiny bit of what they left behind. For Harry, it’s the songs he hums in the shower or while doing the washing up… For Louis, it’s the posh little traditions he couldn’t quite leave behind. 

“Here you go,” Louis says happily, swirling around to face Harry. “Looking fancy,” he teases, handing Harry his glass and eyeing the striped pyjama bottoms that are just a bit too short on Harry’s lanky frame, his ankles exposed. “Are you trying to entice me with those ankles Mr. Styles?” 

Harry smiles in his glass, taking a sip before shrugging coyly. “Maybe. Is it working?” 

Louis wiggles his eyebrows for a second before breaking into a smile, eyes crinkling in Harry’s favourite way. He takes a step forward, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist to press their bodies together. “Always,” he whispers, leaning up to kiss Harry.

Harry moans into the kiss, moving in even closer, shivering a little when Louis’ cold glass presses against his shoulder. 

Louis breaks the kiss with a chuckle, moving the glass away. “Sorry,” he whispers against Harry’s lips. He kisses him again briefly, a small teasing peck, before taking a step back and finishing his drink in one big gulp. “There we go,” he mumbles half to himself, putting the glass down on the drink cart. Then, he gets back to the centre of the room, wrapping one arm around Harry’s waist and grabbing his empty hand with the other, tangling their fingers together as he leads them into a small twirl. 

Harry laughs, following Louis’ lead easily until they settle into a comfortable dance, swaying softly to the distant sounds of Manchester falling asleep. 

“Sing the song,” Louis teases before pressing a kiss on Harry’s temple.

“What song?"

“The song you were singing earlier,” Louis whispers. 

Harry laughs, hiding his head into Louis’ shoulder, glass loosely held against his chest. “It’s not really a slow dancing kind of song.” 

“It will be if we’re slow-dancing to it,” Louis replies, making slow circles on Harry’s lower back with his thumb. 

Harry snorts, then starts humming the  _ Spice Girls  _ for Louis. He waits a few seconds before starting to sing. “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, make it last forever, friendship never ends! If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give, taking is too easy, that’s the way it is.” 

“So poetic,” Louis interrupts with a deeply pensive hum. 

“Hey!” Harry whines, raising his head and giving Louis an exaggeratedly offended look. “That is the sound of my childhood, have a bit of respect for the spice ladies okay.” 

“The future truly is a bleak place,” Louis deadpans before scrunching his nose fondly at Harry. 

He knows Louis doesn’t mean it. They’ve talked too often of the freedom the future allows people like them with fondness for this to be anything but a joke. 

“Well,” Louis adds after a second, giving Harry a thorough once-over, “I guess the future can’t be that bad since it gave me you.” 

It’s not like Harry has much of a choice, but to kiss him for that comment. 

The topic of popular music in the 1990s is dropped until much later when they’re finally burrowed into the covers, their limbs tangled together. Harry’s eyelids are so heavy he doesn’t even bother fighting sleep anymore when Louis speaks in the darkness of their bedroom. 

“Love? Are you awake?” 

Harry hums sleepily, tightening his hold on Louis’ fingers on his stomach. 

“What’s a zigazig ah?”  
  
  
  



End file.
